Fairytale of Old York
by Milk-and-Hope
Summary: Modern AU Chelsie Christmas song fic ... Need I say more? Well, let's try this: swear words, Christmas, alcohol and a tale of a couple finding back together decades after splitting up [also a LOT of Banna and Cobert] Not our usual Christmas fluff / T *for now*
1. Chapter 1

**I thought I'd never publi** **sh anything ever again, and yet here I am ... A modern AU, Chelsie centric, inspired by "Fairytale of New York" (of all Christmas songs :D )**

 **Plea** **se do me a favor and only ever listen to the original version by The Pogues feat. Kirsty MacColl.**

 **Now, well ... Here we go.**

Downton, Yorkshire, December 6th 2018

"Does it work?," Anna asked, carrying two steaming mugs of hot cocoa with cream in her hands, eyeing her husband of nearly six years suspiciously. That man obviously had no idea what he was doing, kneeling on the floor in front of their TV for nearly ten minutes near, wires and cords around him.

"I hope it will, love. At least I think I know now what to put where." He looked up at her, smiling sheepishly and that hint of despair in hi eyes made her laugh. He was so cute, sometimes.

"I am more than ready for it. I can't wait to see Mr. Carson as a young man on stage, using swear words." Alone the thought of it amused her, really. Usually, she wasn't to keen on reliving the past, but if the past involved a singing Charles Carson, then it was different, of course.

Anna sat down on their huge leather couch, something they had purchased for their very first shared flat, so long ago that she didn't dare to voice it, not even in her mind. It would make her feel terribly old.

Blowing gently over the hot tea, she kept watching her husband.

"Hand me the remote please," he demanded, reaching for her with his right arm, the old camera in his other hand. It was beyond pleasing to see a tiny blue screen on it and the sound of a cassette rewinding made her think of her use, how she and Mary had watched Disney movies until Cora had literally forced them to go to bed.

"Here"

Leaning back, John's mug now on the small wooden coffee table, she licked her lips, anxious to see what everyone else had been talking about merely hours before.

"I have it!" He beamed like a child, pressed one of the buttons on the camera and jumped as quickly as his knee problems allowed it to where his wife sat. "Now, I think it's time for Christmas 1993 at the Crawley Household."

Indeed, it was.

Downton, Yorkshire, December 24th 1993

"I don't like that West woman at all, but I am so pleased that she agreed to watch Edith tonight." Cora raised both of her hands as the kitchen door clicked shut behind her. "Now do me a favor and hand me a cocktail. Why the hell did I agree to this farce?" It was only now that she glanced at Beryl and realized what the red haired woman held in her hands.

"You are not seriously recording me, are you?" It was more a displeasing realization, followed by a sigh, than a question.

"You really should stop now, surely we need the rest of the tape for later, Bee." Of course it was Phyllis Baxter who said that, always reasonable and sensible.

Cora watched her friends, gathered around her kitchen table, while she herself allowed her tired body to rest in the comfy armchair in the corner.

"Later? No way. Give that to me, come here, Beryl Patmore. There is no way I allow anyone to record me singing with Charlie. Bad enough a certain someone forced us to perform tonight." Now Cora felt more than uncomfortable. Elsie Hughes was glaring at her, in a very angry way. The Scottish Dragon had been awoken.

"Alright everyone, I will stop filming. I already recorded Mary and Anna earlier, and Robert of course. Nursing a glass or two of hot punch."

Cora had to shake her head silently at that. No doubt her dear husband would be more than slightly tipsy when the party was over.

Beryl nearly threw the camera on the table, obviously not very pleased.

It was a relief to see Elsie getting up and filling a glass of wine for Cora. That was exactly what she needed right now. "Anna and Mary are already upstairs, too. But I doubt they are sleeping. I shouldn't have given her that video recorder for Christmas."

"It wasn't you! It was Father Christmas!," Phyllis exclaimed as Cora grabbed the glass Elsie was handing her.

"Just shut up. I mean, I wouldn't have managed to organize any of that without your help, but seriously … Don't think me rude, but -"

Beryl interrupted her.

"You're American, there are people who will always think you rude."

That comment was answered by a rather forceful slap against her shoulder from Elsie. God bless her.

"Listen, I don't care what my mother-in-law thinks, or her daughter for that matter. I just want it to be a success, for our sake."

Elsie snorted, putting a hand on her chest. "I can only speak for myself of course, but I think, every party with my pals in a kitchen with enough wine is a success. Cheers!" The auburn haired woman raised her glass and laughed.

Her new friends were one of the very few good things her decision to move to England had brought. Only 24 years old, already mother of two daughters, not working anymore, but instead stuck with a demanding mother-in-law and a big house. It wasn't that she didn't love Robert, she did very much so, but … It wouldn't have been bareable without Elsie, Beryl and Phyllis.

"Elsie Hughes, don't drink that much! You still have to sing!" Even Cora rolled her eyes at that.

"Darling, that's exactly why I need to drink. I have never done that before and I doubt I'm any good."

Gladly, Elsie was the only one who didn't know that her voice was angelic.

"I still can't believe Charlie agreed," Cora said, smiling to herself. Robert's best friend always seemed to be so stiff and proper. But tonight he'd sing the line ' _You're an old slut on junk_ ' for half the village to hear.

"I still can't believe _I_ agreed, for Christ's sake. Again, that sounds as if someone forced us." Again, an angry glare hit Cora and made her feel more than just terrible. It made her shiver.

But it would be worth it.

It was then when suddenly the door opened. Charlie Carson, his face already red, visibly nervous.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something." He looked around as if someone was chasing him.

"It doesn't matter, just four women trying to avoid the farce in the rest of the house." Cora talked more to herself than to anyone else. Charles had buried his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers, something he'd normally never do.

"When … when do we have to … well, go on stage, so to say. When?"

Of course it was Elsie who approached him, putting her hands on his upper body, tilting her head so that she could look deep into his eyes.

Cora had always envied them somehow, even though she was indeed happy with Robert. It was just that Charles and Elsie seemed to be so … free, somehow. Not married, not living together, but yet so in sync, so obviously in love, for years now, since Elsie had come down from Argyll, so Robert had told her.

"We don't _have to_ , darling. We promised Cora and Robert to do it, but we agreed because it will work. The song is great, you are great and I … I guess I will do."

Beryl let out a sob when they kissed.

Downton, Yorkshire, December 6th 2018

"You were a cute kid," John admitted, panting a featherlight kiss on his wife's head.

"I know that. I still can't believe Cora let us jump around for so long, we were just five years old or so. But very independent for our age, I dare say. And we always stayed in Mary's room for the night, alone." They hadn't slept until the early hours of the morning more than once.

"And I can't believe they trusted Beryl with that camera." John had been beyond amused by watching all the funny scene the woman had captured already, including Robert trying to hide while drinking what seemed to be hot punch. And they hadn't even watched Charles Carson singing _Fairytale of New York,_ which was the original reason of spending the night watching old home videos.

"Was that really just Cora demanding a cocktail?," he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I guess it was." Anna looked back at the screen of their new smart tv.

Oh.

"I never knew Joseph Molesley could play the piano."

John grinned. "He can't, not while he's sober."

And there he was, indeed, Charles Carson, sitting right next to Joseph, his deep baritone beginning to sing the song.

"John ..." It was weird. Anna knew anyone in Downton, not unusual since she had spend her whole live there, but the woman leaning over the piano was an unfamiliar face. Anna should remember her, she'd been at that party after all. But no, she had never seen her before.

"Who .. Who is that?" Her voice was beautiful, melodic, angelic even. And Charles Carson looked at her like she had never seen him looking at anyone else like that.

"Robert only hired me only two years later. I … I have no idea."

 **There you have it. I would be beyond grateful for a tiny wee review x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Fir** **st of all, thank you so very much for your fantastic reviews! They rock my sock! No, seriously, they never fail to make me happy.  
And now, on with chapter two of that unconventional Chelsie tale ;)**

 **Downton, Yorkshire, December 7th 2018**

"By the way, I gave John our old camera yesterday, including the tape from your Christmas party 25 years ago. You know, Charles singing and using swear words." Robert Crawley sipped his coffee, an awful American habit due to living with an American, and watched his wife who was just about to read the paper at the breakfast table.

"Why?;" she asked surprised, her mouth till ful with the last bite of toast. "I mean, what brought this up? I don't mind, but it is a bit odd, don't you think?"

He guessed it was. "We were joking about how similar your Christmas parties are, every year the same program, then I told him about the tie Charles performed _Fairytale of New York_. I had nearly forgotten about it myself." It was only after finishing that sentence that Robert noticed he might have gotten himself into trouble.

"Always the same you say? Why don't you organize the party we'll have in seventeen days? It shouldn't be that much of a problem, since it is always the same." He knew that look. Cora was angry.

But he loved those parties, indeed. Lots of hot punch and cookies, nice people and music.

"My love, you misunderstood my."

"Don't I always?," she asked with a raised eyebrow, her newspaper now on the table and no longer in her hands.

"You know that everyone loves our parties." They had been a tradition for decades now, the first one organized by his mother in the seventies.

"Our parties? Didn't you just call them _my_ parties?" Yes, he was right. But well. Robert tried desperately now to avoid one of their little arguments. Therefore, he should stop to risk his neck with careless talk.

"Mary heard me talking about it to John and now begged Charles to perform the song again, with her." He had to smile a little at that. His daughter didn't seem to know her godfather pretty well. Or he simply assumed he'd do anything for her. Which was usually true. But not in this case.

"No way. I remember how much trouble we have had to make him sing it. All the bad words … He was not very keen. But it was perfect. Charles and Elsie performed it nearly as well as that guy from The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl."

Elsie. He put down his mug and took a deep breath. Elsie Hughes. How long they hadn't lost a single word about her.

Robert didn't want to think back, he really didn't. Those memories hidden somewhere in the darkest corner of his mind were nothing he would enjoy to remember. But still. It made him wonder.

"Did anyone ever hear anything from her again after …? Well. After." What else could he say? There was no way he would spell it out during breakfast.

"Beryl did, she still does. They call each other three or four times a year."

Now that was surprising. Or not.

"Is … Is she doing well?"

His wife's face fell. Not a good sign. But did it really matter? That woman hadn't been a part of his life for more than 24 years.

"Not really, I am afraid."

And with that, Cora started talking about Christmas presents for their three adult daughters.  
Robert decided not to raise the matter again.

 **Downton, Yorkshire, December 24th 1993**

"Elsie, I can't do this. I simply can't." Her sweet, daft bear of a man. He was standing in front of her, as nervous as she had never seen him before, his hands shaking. They were alone in the kitchen now, everyone else already standing in the huge parlour of the Crawley's house, waiting for them to sing.

Not that she was a fan of that idea either, but they had promised Cora to do it and at least she had been allowed to pick out the song. A song Charlie didn't exactly love. The very idea of calling her an old slut had upset him very much, appalling he had called it.

"You can, darling. We learned the lines, you always sing in tune and I am pretty sure there are quite a few people who love that song." And it really was a great song. Not as hypocritical and sugar coating as most Christmas songs.

"Aunt Violet will be shocked." Of course he would worry about _her_ opinion. Elsie herself couldn't care less about what the old bat might think. It was her who always annoyed Elsie by scolding her for not being married and not giving him a son. Modern ways weren't exactly something Violet Crawley appreciated.

"And what? Your godmother will get over it." And now enough of that. It was time. With her right hand, she pushed down his head so she could properly kiss her boyfriend.

Boyfriend. How that sounded. As if they were teenagers. And maybe they were, in a way.

Her kisses never failed to make him feel better, but they shouldn't exaggerate it. Charlie couldn't possibly go out there with a bulge in his trousers.

"Thank you," he whispered when they broke apart.

"For what?"

"For being you, Elsie. For being the woman I love." Well, in any other situation his words would have melted her heart, but they really had to go now.

"It's showtime, love." Elsie grabbed his hand and opened the kitchen door.

The sooner they faced it, the sooner it would be over.

And how much she wanted that to be over. Why on earth had she agreed to sing in public? In front of all of her friends to that! Elsie Hughes had lost her mind, that was it.

Her legs were shaking when they approached the piano, Joseph already sat there and some friends of Robert would play various other instruments. They had rehearsed so often, god had they rehearsed often. And now it was time.

Fuck.

Charlie sat down next to Joseph and she herself felt a little lost. What seemed to be thousands of people stared at her, their looks literally piercing her. Elsie felt sick. Damn.

Okay. A deep breath. Grabbing the microphone, careful not to stumble over its cord, she leaned over the piano, her underarms resting on the dark wood, her eyes fixed on Charlie instead of the audience.

And then he opened his mouth and sang. He sang about Christmas Eve, about the drunk tank, shattered dreams and the woman he loved.

A last deep breath, it was time for her entry.

" _They've got cars big as bars; they've got rivers of gold. But the wind goes right through you;_

 _it's no place for the old. When you first took my hand on a cold Christmas Eve, you promised me Broadway was waiting for me._ " Funny how true at least those lines were. He had promised her a big career, albeit not on Broadway, when they had first become a couple, in December 1988. Elsie had just moved to Yorkshire from Argyll. A lifetime ago or so it seemed. Gladly, Charlie had been right. Her career was working out well.

"You scumbag, you maggot; you cheap lousy faggot" The funny thing was, she completely forgot to worry, the lines just left her mouth and she actually had to smile when Charlie had sung the words "Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed".

It felt great. It really did. The party guests joined in, Joseph and the others played their instruments so well and with the last word, Charles got up, took her by the hand and started dancing with her. As if they were alone. And somehow they were in that very moment. At least to Elsie, in that very moment only she and Charlie existed, nobody else.

 **Downton, Yorkshire, December 7th 2018**

"Shane MacGowan was a drunk with rotten teeth and smoked a lot of cigarettes. I really don't see why you would think I'd be the right person to perform one of his songs." 25 years. Nobody had suggested that he should sing at Cora's Christmas party in the last 25 years. And suddenly Mary had that crazy idea and even suggested _Fairytale of New York_ of all songs. It was inappropriate, simple as that. He had told his goddaughter that he wouldn't even consider it, but she kept annoying him with that nonsense.

That girl even came to his flat to ask him _a very last time_ , or so she had promised. To be fair, Mary Crawley was hardly a girl, more a grown woman, but what he just did was beyond childish.

And now she sat on his settee, looking at him as if she was five years old and wanted her Uncle Charlie to buy her a stuffed animal.

"He's still alive, actually, and got his teeth fixed," she replied without looking at him.

"Mary, why is that so important to you?"

Charles sighed as he asked her that, knowing too well what was the real reason. He knew her too well. Mary had heard that he had performed that song with a woman that wasn't her and now she was jealous. Childish, but so very Mary.

"I simply like the idea! I always wanted to sing a duet with you."

"We sang a lot together when you were a young girl." Mary had never failed to cheer him up during the darkest time of his life, only she didn't know that. He had never told her about Elsie and nobody ever talked about her anyhow. The chapter was closed. It was over. For 24 long years now. But somehow Mary had reopened an old wound with her strange request.

"That doesn't count, Uncle Charlie. And you know that. I heard you already performed that song at one of our Christmas party, so why not with me in two weeks?"  
Because you are not her, Charlie thought to himself.

Truth be told, he would sing that song again anytime. But only with _her_.

"Because … because I do not want to. With Elsie … well, I have done it for her."

Mary stared at him as if he was an alien from outer space. But maybe it was time to tell her.

"Who the hell is Elsie?," she asked, suddenly quite pale.

"When you were still a very little child, I had a girlfriend, Elsie. I am surprised you don't remember her. We often visited your parents. But in 1994, we first got engaged and then … she walked away."

If only it had been that easy. And again, Charlie lied. Elsie hadn't simply walked away. But how could he possibly tell his goddaughter that sorrowful tae that had broken him?

 **I know, I know ... You might get what I know you want in the next chapter. A review would mean a lot to me 3**


	3. Chapter 3

**Once again, all of your fanta** **stic reviews made me so very happy! Please continue to write them, they really mean the world to me x3 Make sure you have already read chapter 02, since ff dot net doesn't behave ... again :D**

 **In the third chapter, we will meet Elsie and learn where she is now and why Cora said what she said.  
Enjoy!**

 **(As always, sadly not beta-read)**

 **Near Inverness, Scotland, December 8th 2018**

"Instead of calling me every two weeks to ask millions of questions about her, you could call _her_ , you know. Or even better, you could actually come and visit. But forgive me, how could I forget how busy you are in Brighton. Goodbye, mother." Thomas rolled his eyes as he hung up, trying very hard not to get too angry. He hadn't even given her a chance to defend herself. Not that she would have come up with anything better than her mental problems as an excuse anyhow.

Tapping the ash off his cigarette, he stared into the distance. For nearly as long as he could remember, this small cottage in the middle of nowhere had been his home. It had been his home long before he had come to live here. Home wasn't necessarily the place where one lived. Home was more about feeling safe, wanted and loved.

And Thomas had only ever felt that here.

Taking another pull, he began to regret that he hadn't dressed in his thick winter coat, even though he'd only be out here for a couple of minutes. It was bitterly cold, more than that actually. His fingers already felt as if they could fall off any second and his face was stiff somehow.

But still. He had to talk to his mother outside, where he could yell at her if there was need. To that, he really needed a cigarette to keep as calm as possible while talking to her. How could that woman be so selfish, so self-righteous and canting? Twice a month, she'd call him, aking how her sister was doing and what he was doing. Of course only after she told him about her adventures and the great things she experienced every day.

It angered him, very much so. But then again. He was home, loved and safe. What more could he want?

His cigarette was dead and he opened the patio door.

It was warm and cozy inside, only partly due to the fireplace.

"I'm inside again!," Thomas yelled, raking his fingers through his black hair. While he was walking towards their living room, he wondered if he should tell her about the phone call. Maybe. It was a good week, after all and it probably wouldn't upset her anyhow.

"Now, Pizza or Chinese for dinner? What shall I order?," he asked with a fake smile on his lips, leaning against the doorframe.

Curled up on the couch, a thick quilt covering her, she looked tiny, but better than last week. A bit thin in the face, but smiling at that weird show on TV, a steaming cup of tea in her hands.

"What do you want, Thomas? I don't really have a preference. But I also feel like cooking. What do you say? Are you in the mood for pasta a la auntie?"

The real question was: When was he not in the mood for her pasta?

"If you feel up to it, why not? Just don't overdo it." Thomas scratched the back of his head, surprised at how quickly she had gotten up.

"My sweet darling nephew," she started to explain while approaching him, "I am not dying yet, nor do I plan on leaving you alone anytime soon, my beloved sole heir." Now he was patting his cheeks, a mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes, actually _teasing_ him. That cheek! And people kept asking him why he was so cheeky by nature. They should meet his aunt, then it'd be obvious.

"Excuse me for worrying about you!," he stated with an open mouth, watching her as she went to the kitchen.

Of course he knew that she was fine now, would be fine for another six days. But still.

"By the way, your sister just called!," he nearly screamed as he followed his aunt. As soon as he arrived in the kitchen, Thomas paused, sitting down and waiting for her answer.

"Has she really? What did Becky want?" Of course she didn't turn around while asking that.

"Telling me about her party last week, her new pills and her puppy. Then she asked how you were doing."

"The usual," was all she replied.

"The usual. I told her she could visit us if she really wanted to know." Now he had her attention.

His aunt looked at him, the package of macaroni still in her hands. "You did not! The last thing I need right now is my sister! I am as good as dead every third week for six or seven days! How on earth could I put up with her?"

Thomas snorted, suppressing a chuckle, amused by her sudden outburst. "Didn't you just tell me that you weren't dying yet, you baldie?" Now he was teasing _her_ , pointing at her bald head. She kept complaining about her wig and sometimes didn't even put on a headscarf.

"Young man! One more word and I will grab my wooden spoon to spank you!" her mouth wide open, laughing loudly, she actually grabbed the wooden spoon and begun to wave about with it.

"Aunt Elsie, tell me, do your meds go to your head?"

That comment was regarded with a punishing glare.

"No, they are not, thank you very much." That ended their little banter and she started cooking again.

"Mum will spend Christmas in Paris." At least she had told him that.

"Good for her," Elsie mumbled.

"Is Christmas a good week?," he asked, pouring himself a glass of coke. They had always an open bottle of coke on their kitchen table.

"Yes, it is." They knew by now how things went. Chemo was every third Thursday for twenty four weeks. Eight cycles. Thus, every third Thursday was the first of six, sometimes even seven, bad days, mostly spent in bed.

"Why don't we go on a little trip ourselves?" He loved Inverness, he really did, but he'd forever stay an English man, born and bred in York, where he had lived in a tiny, cold flat with his mother. Before Aunt Elsie had taken him under her wings.

"Where? I mean, the idea isn't bad. I guess I'd manage. But Paris would be just a tiny bit too expensive."

Thomas clicked his tongue. Elsie always seemed to forget that he earned good money now and he didn't have to pay any rent, so they could actually afford Paris. But that wasn't what he wanted.

"I'd like to see York again."

"York? No, Thomas." His aunt talked to him, but she stood in front of the worktops, chopping an onion with ease, her back towards him.

Thomas didn't know why, but he didn't remember her visiting them in York.

"Why not? My old school, some places from my youth ..."

"You never talk much about your childhood there, why now?"

Because … Gay guys. Yes, he was desperate and yes, he spent whole nights looking for Mr. Perfect in the world wide web and there were two interesting young men living near York.

"Well … Maybe … I mean, I could meet your future nephew-in-law there, couldn't I?"

"In bloody York?! Of all cities?!"

He just shrugged. It didn't matter if he'd have to move, not really. He simply wanted someone by his side.

"I think Mum mentioned a few times that you used to live near York when I was still pretty small, too small to remember." His aunt never talked much about her past, claimed there was nothing to tell and Becky was much too self-centered to talk about someone else for more than five minutes. But he had once found her curriculum vitae for work and Elsie had definitely worked in a small town near York.

Yes, he was terribly nosey, he knew that well enough. But that didn't hurt, did it?

"What do you say, garlic? Or no garlic?" That woman! Just keeping cooking … Unbelievable.

"Garlic. And I asked you something."

"No, you told me that your mother already told you all there is to know. I lived in Downton, had a job, came back in 1994 and that's about it."

Elsie Hughes was a terrible liar, at least to him. But for now, he wouldn't dig deeper. The poor woman was troubled enough already.


	4. Chapter 4

**I can't** **say often enough just how much I love all of your fantastic reviews! And even though you won't get all the answers you want to get, we're slowling moving into the right direction, I dare say.  
Enjoy!**

 **York, December 10th 2018**

"Mary came to see me the day before yesterday." Charles tried very hard to say that as if it was nothing special, simply his goddaughter popping in to see him. But he knew very well that there was more to it and he needed to talk to Robert about it.

It was terribly cold outside, the wind blowing and the sky grey. Fitting somehow. Not that the weather had ever stopped Robert and him from their daily walk during lunch break, apart from a real storm.

"That's not something special, is it?" The two men walked side by side, staring into the distance, not looking at each other.

"No, Robert, it's not, not usually. But obviously she knows about my performance 25 years ago." Actually, she did more than just _knowing_ about that. Charles took a deep breath. How long had he tried to forget Elsie? How long had he fought against those memories? And now, all of a sudden, it seemed as if everyone was talking about her, or more precisely, about the song they sang at Cora's Christmas party in 1993.

"I didn't know it was a secret.," Robert replied, walking on and on through the garden behind the company buildings. He seemed to be so calm, not troubled. But he had been there! He had seen how broken Charles had been after the break up! Hadn't Robert himself promised to ever mention any of that again?

"I didn't know it was perfectly fine to give a tape of me to Anna and John without my consent! Merely two hours ago, Anna told me that she'd seen it ." Maybe he really was overreacting. 25 years were an awfully long time. Elsie would probably laugh at him for not being over her after all these years.

"Charles, what is this really about?" Robert stopped in his tracks, looking him directly into the eyes.

If only he could answer the question. It definitely wasn't about a Christmas song, perhaps not even about the tape.

But how could it be about _her?_ He hadn't thought about her.

No. That was a lie. He knew that well enough. He still thought about her, not every day, but still. He did think about her, sometimes.

"I had to tell Mary about Elsie.," he replied, his eyes fixed on the ground. Maybe it had been foolish to never mention her, but … It still hurt. It would never _not_ hurt.

"I see."

"Do you?" It was a real question. Did his colleague, his friend, actually see that he would never forget himself for what had happened back then?

"Cora and I actually talked about it the other day, actually. Only briefly, though. Your performance of _Fairytale of New York_ was amazing."

"It was, I guess. I still don't like that song. All the swear words. Ironic that she sang _Happy Christmas your arse, I pray God it's our last._ " Because it really was their last Christmas. Little had they known about what had lain ahead of them.

"Cora said Beryl still calls her a few times a year." They continued their walk, always the same path, day after day. Just like his life in general. Always the same, day after day. At least for the last 24 years.

"They had been pretty close, back then. I'm surprised Beryl never tried to tell me something about how she was doing." Weird how a single tape suddenly brought the past so much nearer. No other men would still care so long after breaking up.

But no other men would love a woman like he had loved Elsie.

"Beryl may respect you too much for that. Or maybe Elsie asked her not to tell you anything, I don't know."

Of course Elsie wouldn't want him to know too much. Especially if she was happier now, she might have married, a child or two on her own, even though she hadn't wanted that back then. Or she traveled the world, like it always had been her dream.

"But you do know how she's doing?" Why did he even ask that? Elsie was still an open wound, that he had realized only two days ago, so why would he want to know how she was?

Because there still was _something_.

"No, I'm afraid Cora didn't deepen it, only that she wasn't really well, whatever that meant."

For the rest of the day, he wondered what that might mean.

 **Downton, Yorkshire, December 25th 1993**

Flannel pyjamas weren't exactly sexy, but so very cozy and warm. Besides, Charlie didn't mind what he was wearing, as long as she lay in his bed - or in hers, with him beside her.

"I'm so tired!," she yawned, stretching out and unwilling to get up anytime soon. After they had finished singing that blasted song, the party had indeed been great and ended with her and Beryl dancing on the Crawley's kitchen table to _All that she wants_ , which had made Charlie shaking his head and laughing at the same time.

"We can skip breakfast, love. But I really want to know what Father Christmas has put into my stocking." He sat up in bed, smiling at her.

"Yes, because you hope he brought you some sweets." That man would kill for chocolate and apple pie, that she knew for sure.

"I am a big man Elsie, I need nourishment."

"You need a diet if you go on like that!," she joked, playfully slapping his rather round belly.

"When you aren't with me, I eat. Chocolate comforts me. Poor, lonely Charlie ..."

There it was again. They still hadn't moved together, even though they were a couple for five long years now and it wasn't even that Elsie didn't want to. Both of them were simply too lazy and a bit stuck in their own way. Elsie's flat was in York, which was practical since they both worked in York, and Charlie lived in Downton, which was practical too, because all of their friends lived here. Thus, they kind of lived together. During the week in York, most of the time anyhow, and in Downton on the weekends. Charles spent every Wednesday in Downton, though, it was his pub night with Robert and Joseph, a beyond silly habit.

"I won't pity you, Mr. Carson.," she replied only half-jokingly.

"Rosamund told me about a friend who sells a cottage in Alne. It's closer to York, but not terribly far away from Downton."

Elsie rolled her eyes at that. They did already live together, kind of. And Alne? A tiny village where they didn't know a single soul. Besides, a cottage might be a bit too big for the two of them.

"We may buy a cottage, one day. Not yet, Charlie, please. I love our life as it is now." It wouldn't be enough forever, she knew that well enough. Elsie could picture Charlie married, with a cottage, children playing in the backyard and hopefully she'd be the woman by his side, just not yet. In a few years, maybe. For now, things were good as they were.

"We are still young, so I don't disagree, but one day … one day we'll move on, won't we, Elsie?"

To answer his question, she kissed him passionately.

Because she loved him. Now and forever. Whatever the future may hold.

 **Downton, Yorkshire, December 10th 2018**

Monday was closing day, ever since she had opened that restaurant nearly three decades ago. Just one day in the week entirely reserved for her friends and family - and cleaning the floor, the tables, the dispensing equipment … Beryl rolled her eyes, more than slightly annoyed, as she heard how someone knocked at the wooden front door. Everyone knew it was closed! And it was half past seven in the evening! Everyone should be at home now, especially given the cold outside.

"Who is disturbing me?," she yelled, hoping whoever it was wouldn't make her stay longer as she had originally intended.

Plodding to the door, Beryl recognized the deep voice answering something like "It's me. It's raining, for God's sake!"

Charles Carson of all people. Nobody else she knew had such a voice.

But what could he want from her? They were friends, yes, but not terribly close. Not as close as once.

"It's not Wednesday," she stated dryly as she opened the door, raising her eyebrows as she realized that the rain outside had caused his shoes to be quite wet and dirty.

Why had she even bothered with wiping the floor?

"I know what day it is, thank you very much."

Charles didn't seem to be in a very good mood. But was he ever?

"Take one of the chairs down, I'll join you in a minute!"

Actually, she needed three minutes, but then she sat down opposite from him, on his usual table, a glass of red wine in front of him. Beryl could tell something was wrong. Charles Carson in The Banshee, on a Monday, despite the bad weather outside. But what exactly did he want from her? The last time that an had asked a favour of her, he had wanted her to hire Mary Crawley as a relief waitress. Of course she had done it, but that girl had not been a relief at all.

"Now, ole Charlie boy, what's troubling you?"

He licked his lips and took a deep breath. "Elsie."

Gosh. That was quite a surprise. He had not forgotten about Elsie Hughes. Or maybe he had, but now Cora had spilled the secret and Charlie wanted to know if it was already too late to apologize, or something like that. Not that he was the only one who had behaved like a coward back then.

Might be something else, though. Deciding to act as if she had no idea about anything, she nipped at the pint in her hands. Beryl had never liked wine.

"Elsie? You mean Elsie Hughes? What about her?" Of course her voice was even more high-pitched than usual, as always when she tried, to no avail, to maintain a low profile.

"I know for certain she's not well."

"Whoever says such a thing?" Now she sounded even more unnatural.

"Cora, well Robert to be quite honest, but he knows from his wife." That much she had suspected. It was a miracle that nobody had told him anything about Elsie during the last 24 years, but now that she was seriously ill, things changed. Obviously.

"I can't believe they told you that Elsie has cancer! I made Cora promise not to tell anyone!," she nagged, her blood boiling with anger. Ever since the break up, since Elsie had left, she had made sure that Charlie didn't know anything - because she had promised it.

But then again, cancer changed things. And perhaps Charles Carson deserved a very last chance.

"No, they didn't. You just did."

 **Leave me a tiny wee review if you feel like it xox  
(If you got weird alerts, I had to upload this twice =( The first time there were party missing)**


	5. Chapter 5

**I just wanted to let you know that I love each and every review, but didn't manage to reply to all of them just yet due to my child being sick and just a busy life. And yet I managed to write a chapter tonight before I have to get up in a couple of hours (compassion anyone? teehee)**  
 **Anyhow, as always, I sadly work without a beta and am not a native speaker. To that, I am terribly tired, but this story won't leave me alone :D**

 ****

 **Near Inverness, December 12th 2018**

"You are grinning. You are never grinning!," Elsie stated, eyeing her nephew suspiciously. He had carried her shopping bags in, without saying a word, humming a tune while doing that and now she actually wondered if she'd ever seen him like that. "Did you watch a small child getting hurt or what is going on?" Opening the fridge, her mind was still occupied with thinking about what she had might forgotten to buy. Chemo really did damage your brain, that was fact she couldn't deny any longer. It had happened so often lately that she couldn't remember the simplest things. And then there was Thomas, obviously very happy, opening the cupboards and packing away everything, not a single word of complain. Who was that guy and what had he done to her nephew?

"Remember how I told you I might meet Mr. Muscle in York?" He never said Mr. Perfect or Mr. Right, always Mr. Muscle, whyever. Personally, she wouldn't want to get together with a hard-surface cleaner, but perhaps that was just her.

"Yes, I do remember," she replied with bated breath. Did that mean he actually had someone in view?

"Well, originally I messaged with two guys, but one turned out to be pretty vain and self-centred."

That earned him a mocking glare, since both of them knew exactly that both words would describe Thomas himself perfectly.

"Anyhow, I called the second guy today and we talked for the whole time you were away. I have a date on December 23rd in York."

"Okay …" Closing the fridge again, just to notice that the butter till sat on the kitchen counter, Elsie had to think about that for a second. It wasn't that he had never had a date before, he's certainly made his experiences, but the fact that Thomas Barrow, daughter of Becky and nephew of Elsie, would actually travel across the country for a guy definitely was a first. "I guess I will actually have to worm the details out of you. Now, please, could you tell me more?" Putting the kettle on, Elsie leaned her head against the cupboard and waited for Thomas to spit it out. It was kind of exciting to be honest, she already was happy for his, even though he hadn't met that guy yet.

"Well, his name is Eddy, he is working with visually impaired and blind children, is blind himself, brown, curly hair, tall, originally a farm boy from Oxford and pretty sassy."

Blind. Thomas had mentioned that as if it was nothing special, and maybe it wasn't. Maybe being blind in 2018 wasn't a death sentence, nothing that would make permanent care necessary. Well, Eddy had a job himself and was able to use a dating site on the internet.

The really surprising thing was how okay Thomas seemed to be. The boy still struggled with his mother's mental illnesses often enough.

"A sassy man is certainly what you need.," was all she replied, grabbing two mugs for their tea. Why should she bring up his blindness? If it didn't matter to Thomas, than it wouldn't matter to her either.

"He actually said something sassy about you earlier."

"About me? He knows who I am? How long do you know each other?" That was a shock, even more so than anything else he had said. Mentioning his old, sick aunt to a stranger, really.

"Three months, but we took it slow and only called each other today." Three months? He had messaged Eddy for three months without mentioning it to her? Cancer or not, she still wanted him to share everything with her, like he had always done. That hurt and he had to gulp as she handed him his cuppa.

"Anyhow, of course he knows about you. You are a part of my life, aren't you?"

"I guess I am." Now she had to sit down. "But I am not dead yet. You can tell me things, you know." There was it. Her nephew had been one of the very few people who hadn't treated her differently since the diagnosis. To him, she hadn't changed. At least Elsie had thought that much until now.

"Auntie, you know that I would have told you if ..."

"If I wasn't ill, you mean? Well, it might come as a surprise to you, but I don't have a tag on my toe just yet, thank you very much!," she snapped, regretting her words instantly. Tomorrow was Chemo day and alone the thought of the next six or seven days made her sick and now … "I'm sorry," she whispered, biting her bottom lip and not daring to look him into the eye.

"No, there is no need to be sorry." Thomas sat down himself, sipping at his tea. "That wasn't what I wanted to say, though. I merely wanted to be sure first. A blind man … I was unable to cope with that at first, but Eddy just didn't give up and now I am certain. I have every intention to meet him, more than once."

Now he felt horrible. Her nephew had probably known that she would have told him not to rebuff that guy simply because of his blindness and wanted to figure things out on his own.

"Now, what sassy remark made he about me?"

Thomas clicked his tongue. "That you two would get along great for sure, because you were B&B."

Elsie rolled her eyes at that. He knew exactly that she wouldn't understand what that meant. "B&B? Why? Our names aren't Beddy and Belsie."

He laughed at that. "No, B&B as in bald and blind."

 **Downton, Yorkshire, late January 1994**

"I don't like that look on your face at all!" Of course Beryl knew something was wrong even before they properly sat down for their tea. The other woman had asked her weird questions for days now and it was indeed the tie to open up now. At least to her best friend, partially.

"Thank you," she whispered as she reached for the steaming mug. Exactly what she needed right now.

It had become their ritual to meet on Saturday mornings at Beryl's house, while Charlie coached the Cricket team. This was different, though.

"Now, what is going on? For weeks now you aren't your usual self, always distracted, your head in the clouds."

"It hasn't been weeks, Beryl." Actually, it had been weeks, but even Beryl couldn't have noticed that back then.

Elsie herself had pushed it to the back of her mind for far too long. Telling herself over and over that it was nothing.

"It's about Becky, isn't it? Your sister has having problems again and you worry about baby Tommy."

Elsie sighed. That was an entirely different story, but still something that weighed heavily on her mind. "No, I wouldn't call her emotionally stable and Thomas often seems irritated by her irrational behaviour, poor little guy, barely three years old … But that isn't it." A part of her wished it was, though.

Taking a sip of her tea, she turned her head towards the wall. A calendar. Of course a calendar would catch her eye. The red dates that marked Sundays glaring angrily at her.

"What is it then?," Beryl asked, seriously concerned now, resting her hand atop of Elsie's as if she knew that Elsie couldn't go on without support.

"I ..." Biting her bottom lip, she tried to hold back her tears. "I … am overdue."

"With what?"

In any other situation, she would have laughed at that but now, now she was simply annoyed. "I didn't come on, Bee."

"Come on to what?!"

For something who was as curious as her, Beryl Patmore didn't get much!

"My period!," she blurted out. There it was. It could be nothing. The stress at work, perhaps, problems with her hormone system, the trouble with Becky or just malnutrition. But then again, Charlie and her had become careless somehow. The first time without protection, nothing had happened. The second and third time neither, so … well. Now she might regret it. Or not.

That was the thing. Elsie didn't know if she would regret it. There was so much she still wanted to do before settling down, traveling, seeing the world, perhaps even marrying Charlie, it was certainly something he would want at some point.

"Oh. I see. You are pre..."

"NO!," Elsie quickly shouted. "I _am_ not, I might be. I don't know." All she knew that she had to know for sure what was going on now. If only she knew how to face it. For weeks now Elsie had tried to figure out if she wanted it to be the case or not.

"No test yet then?," Beryl asked, her mouth still open, her face pale.

"I bought one, but it's still in my handbag." Because she needed someone by her side and getting Charlie's hopes up wasn't what she wanted. He would be happy. But would she? Or would she be happy if it was negative?

"Before you ask, I don't think I have many symptoms. No nausea, no cravings, nothing. Just my circulation, but I've had trouble with it forever." It could very well not be the case. Alas, a part of her feared that she'd cry if she wasn't pregnant, that a negative test would make her realize that she _was_ ready for that huge step.

And then there was Becky who showed her over and over again that even a loving mum wasn't always a good mum.

"You don't have to empty your stomach all the time to carry a child. Now, take a deep breaths, how long are you overdue?"

"A couple of weeks." It was embarrassing, really. It had taken her two weeks to even realize that something wasn't as it should be and then it had taken her even longer to face the truth.

"Elsie Hughes, how many are _a couple?_ "

"Well, since Christmas Eve." Her cheeks blushed scarlett. Not only hated she discussing her period, even if it was with her best friend, but admitting that she was a foolish coward was even worse.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Beryl nearly yelled, her own face red now, albeit not from shame.

"I wish I was."

A couple of seconds passed before Beryl stood up, glaring at her.

"You, me, test kit, toilet, NOW!"

 **Well. The plot thickens, I'd say! The part with Beryl was quite a surprise wasn't it? And I a afraid a few of you might stop reading now, but ... let's just wait and see. A review would mean the world to me x3**

 **Love, Milky**


	6. Chapter 6

**I am** **so very sorry for the delay and I hope all of you have had a wonderful Christmas. I struggled a lot with both sene in this chapter and I truly am not satisfied, but at least one question will get answered before we'll go back to present day Elsie and Thomas in the next chapter.  
Anyway, you really need to know how much your wonderful reviews mean to me. Not kidding, I go back to read them when I feel sad and they encourage me to finish this little, silly tale.**

 **Downton, Yorkshire, December 13th 2018**

"It's a bit mysterious, don't you think?" Anna licked her lips as she talked to her husband, her hands busy with knitting a scarf, some kind of Christmas gift for Mary.

"He did visit us before." John sat down next to her, grabbing the remote control. Just an ordinary afternoon, nothing special. Except for the fact that Charles Carson wanted to stop by. Yes, he had been at their house before, once or twice, but their superior at Crawley publishing company was just that, their superior, not really a friend. John was close to Robert, but Charles … They greeted each other and talked every now and then, attended the same birthday parties and that was about it.

Anna was pretty sure it had to be about that tape of him they had watched. The poor man was probably embarrassed, or even angry. Who knew? They'd learn soon, though.

Tea time, he'd said.

"Mary told me the woman on the video was his girlfriend back then," she nearly whispered, knowing too well that there was no need to be loud. The word _girlfriend_ alone would get her husband's attention.

"His girlfriend?!" He turned his head towards her so quickly that she was nearly afraid he'd hurt himself, his eyes widened.

"Yes, his girlfriend. He told her that much and don't look at me quite so shocked! He is a man after all." Well, at least he was _technically_ a man. Anna couldn't remember him ever even dating someone and it was hard to imagine a romantical side to Charles Carson, but well, why shouldn't he have a past with a woman?

"Yes, yes. He is a man." It seemed as if John needed a few seconds to process it.

"And have you seen the way he'd looked at her when they sang the song? It certainly didn't surprise me. There obviously was _something_."

"Obviously for women, perhaps. I paid more attention to the blonde haired girl on the tape before their performance," he stated smirkingly.

"Mary also told me she'd find a way to make him sing that song with _her_ this year." Anna herself doubted that, very much so.

"With Mary? I have to say, she knows how to get what she wants, but I doubt she'll win this time. Charles was not amused by the fact we've seen the tape, he scolded Robert for giving it to us."

All the trouble just because of a very, very old tape from a Christmas party. Anna could only roll her eyes at that. 25 years had passed since then and until now nobody ever even mentioned it!

And then, the doorbell rang. Charles Carson was there, for a mysterious reason, and John walked towards the door as if it was nothing special. To his wife, it was. He'd probably give them a lecture about privacy or something like that.

Not a minute later, her superior stood in front of her, wringing his hands somehow nervously.

"Hello Charles, nice to see you! Please have a seat, I'll put the kettle on!," she greeted him, shaking his hand and speaking faster than usual. There was no need to be so nervous, really. Just Charles Carson, in their living room. After they'd watched a tape of him singing a naughty Christmas song and telling a lot of people about it.

Deep, gentle breaths. He was nice man, strict and old-fashioned, but never unfair or mean.

Kettle. Tea. And there had to be some shortbread somewhere. Hadn't Mary recently told her how to make a microwave cake in under three minutes?

No, that was nonsense and went too far.

Everything would be alright. At least she couldn't hear them shouting through the door, the few words she could understand seemed to be related to work. Nothing bad then. That was good.

Anna took her time with preparing a tray for the three of them, but managed to appear quite calm on the outside when she entered the room, a smile on her face.

"Tea is ready!"

For quite some time, they just sat at the large wooden table right under the window, chatting about work and nursing their cuppas, but Anna noticed how nervous Charles was. He really was nervous. Permanently fidgeting with his hands, his eyes fixed on the little plate with cookies, but barely on John or Anna herself. To that, he kept licking his lips and repeated things he had already said. Trivial things, small matters, definitely not the reason he'd come to the cottage.

"Now, Charles, whatever brought you here, if I may ask?" It had taken Anna what seemed to her like an eternity to gather the courage to ask him that.

He gulped. "The tape," he muttered, taking a deep breath after these two words. "Well, not only the tape. I may need your help … and your discretion."

Discreation - wow. Now things started to get really interesting.

"If I may explain it ..." The poor man didn't really know what to say, just struggled to go on, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"I don't want Robert or Cora or Beryl to know … And I am obviously not clever enough myself."

"Charles, what do you want us to do?" Thankfully, John put an end to the riddle, but his voice remained calm, he didn't sound demanding or annoyed. He simply tried to help Charles to tell them what he wanted to say.

"I know that you can find people. On the internet, I mean. Their address. I own a computer, as you know, and I know how to google stuff, but when I typed down _Where does Elsie Hughes live?_ , I didn't find anything. I tried it with _Elsie Hughes address_ , I didn't have more success."

Okay, she tried to follow.

"You want us to find an Elsie Hughes, right? You want to know where she lives, but no one must know." Anna repeated that only to get things right. It was a bit confusing, after all.

Charles nodded. "Yes. Cora and Beryl could give the address to me, I guess, but they'd tell her and ..."

"You don't want that.," John finished the sentence for him.

"No. I'd be satisfied with a phone number, though. That might even be better than standing on her doorstep after 24 years."

Even without knowing the story, Anna could only nod at that. A forewarning might be nice.

"I guess we could find that out, I mean … It's not that difficult." Actually, it was a relief. No scolding, no lecture, he merely wanted them to do him a favour.

"Yes, we could, as my wife said. But … may I ask who she is?"

Charles took a sip of his tea before he answered. "You may, John. Elsie is the woman on the tape. We were together for five years, got engaged, bought a cottage, but eventually … we broke up. Now she is sick, as I only recently learned, and … even though there are things I want to tell her, I also think it's time to give her in person what belongs to her."

Wow. Again. Wow. Anna knew that she never could tell Mary any of that, but her head was nearly exploding. A bit much, really. And so very … NOT the Charles Carson she knew.

"You make that sound like in one of those movies Anna forces me to watch!" Even now, John managed to tease her! It was unbelievable! That man! Anna threw a disapproving glare at him, but John only laughed.

"It does, John, it does. Even I see that." Charles smiled himself as he said that, but quickly became serious again. "Elsie was special, you know. I'd lie if I said I forgot her. I thought about her very often. We wanted to marry, had big plans."

Anna knew better than to question him further. But he went on without a question or encouragement.

"Long story short: Our plans changed, the changed plans didn't work out, we argued a lot, she went away and … I never tried to bring her home."

 **Downton, Yorkshire, late January 1994**

Weeks. Elsie had spent weeks worrying and overthinking and crying and making herself sick. And then, the second she had seen those two lines on that stick, nothing but joy had overwhelmed her. There was no shock, no fear, no denial. Not a single bad feeling. Just joy, happiness and now she felt utterly foolish. Elsie was happy, simply happy. No, they hadn't exactly planned it, not yet anyhow, but still. They would make a go of it. A baby. A child. It would unite them forever. A tiny human being, created by the love they felt for each other. And she had been so afraid, so unsure, so worried. Now she wished she had known for sure sooner.

Charlie needed to know as soon as possible and on Monday she'd see a doctor to confirm it properly. But there was no doubt. A few symptoms, no period, a positive test … Elsie Hughes was pregnant. And she'd be a good mum, she would.

Glancing at the clock, she wondered if Charlie would come home in time. It was still Saturday, only hours had passed since tears had wetted her cheeks at Beryl's, her hands shaking, her heart bursting. And now she waited for her man coming home from the zoo. He'd promised Cora to spend the afternoon with Mary.

Her man. The father of her babe. Not that long and they'd go to the zoo with their own child, as a family. But perhaps not in January. Visiting the zoo was just something the little princess Mary wanted and it was beyond foolish to agree to that.

The table was set. Every word planned out, the food in the oven. The test stick wrapped, in Christmas paper, but still. A gift, indeed.

Every minute seemed to last an eternity. Elie needed to tell him and if he waited much longer, she'd probably just blurt it out as soon as he crossed the doorstep of his home.

If only she could have a drink to calm her nerves, but alcohol was out of the question, would be so for quite some time.

Then, finally, he came in, a woolen hat covering his short curls, a scarf around his neck, snow on his black coat. He dragged lots of mud in, but it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered tonight. Just her news.

Big news.

News that would change everything.

Okay. Deep, gentle breaths. Everything would be alright. _They_ would be alright. All three of them.

"Hello" Only one word and her voice was already shaking as she cupped his cheeks, planting a featherlight kiss on the cold skin of his forehead.

"Hello, Elsie." Quickly getting out of his coat and stuff, he began to talk about his afternoon, not noticing how nervous his girlfriend was. And she was nervous. This evening would change everything. For the best, she knew that now for sure. "It was way too cold, as you predicted. We didn't see many animals, as you predicted. We were freezing, as you predicted. But Mary was very happy, as _I_ predicted."

Of course she was. That girl loved her godfather, as it should be.

"Now, I prepared dinner, why don't you sit down in the living room? I'll join you in a minute, I just need to get that shepherd's pie out of the oven." It was hard to behave as if it was just an ordinary evening. But Elsie somehow managed.

"Did I do something wrong? My favourite food, a smiling Elsie, your good mood … Did you poison the pie or something?" Of course he was teasing her, but even though this would be one of the happiest evenings of their lives, she could still tease him back.

"Just sit down, you'll learn what you've done soon enough!"

The look on his face was priceless, poor man.

Elsie would put him out of his misery soon enough. For now, she needed to go to the kitchen. The shepherd's pie, a glass of wine for him … All would be well.

It would. He had always wanted a family at some point and only a few weeks before, he had talked about buying a cottage. Elsie would bring that up tonight. A small, cozy cottage, a swing in the backyard, rose bushes, perhaps a dog. Their friends coming over for dinner, little Thomas could come over often to play with his cousin… Elsie could picture it. Now that she knew that she was carrying Charlie's baby, she could picture it. There was no need to be afraid, not with her man by her side.

It were these daydreams she thought about when she put the pan out of the oven and when she poured him a glass of wine. A red kitchen. They'd have a red kitchen in their cottage, a modern one, and finally a four poster bed. And a nursery. For their baby.

It was suddenly so real. Already. They could make plans now. Plans for their family of three.

"I'm sorry if it's not quite as good as Beryl's, but I tried my best!," she admitted as she served Charlie his dinner. Elsie needed to improve her cooking now, with a little help from her best friend.

"It looks delicious! I still hope I didn't do anything wrong, since I don't think I did anything to deserve any of this."

Oh, he did. He loved her. He had created something beyond wonderful, together with her. He deserved everything.

God, her sentimental thoughts! That was so _not_ like her. Normally.

"Well, I do have to talk to you," she began as she sat down. "I think we should at least take a look at the cottage Rosamund mentioned, don't you think?" Her heart beat faster as usual. That was the plan. The cottage first, then implying it and finally unwrapping the gift, carefully hidden behind the huge flower vase on the table.

He widened his eyes in surprise. "Well, we can! Of course, I mean, I'll gladly talk to her! I am surprised, I thought that _one day_ you talked about was … well, in the distant future."

Yes, she had thought the same. Until two lines had told her that she was indeed ready for that _one day._

Biting her bottom lip, she hastily smiled away a single tear that had already formed at the corner of her eye. "Would you … Would you mind if we settled down sooner? I had assumed you were ready." Of course he was, it had been her who hadn't been ready for a long time.

To her relief, Charles nodded. "I am. I hope you don't just want that because of me."

"No. Not _only_ because of you." Now was the time. Reaching behind the vase, her heart stopped beating for a second. Now. Right now. Everything would change.

"I do have something for you."

He grabbed the wrapped test and seemed to be quite confused. "Isn't it a bit late for a Christmas gift?"

"Aye, it is. But that doesn't matter." Elsie indeed managed to smile.

"If you say so. I'll open it now."

And he opened it, Elsie's eyes fixed on him. Her heart threatened to break apart her ribcage, or so it felt.

"A plastic pen?!" Charles raised his eyebrows, looking at her as if she had given him a pile of dog poo.

"You daft man! It is a pregnancy test!" Now she was shouting. Every tiny little detail had been planned and that stupid fool didn't realize he held their future in his hands.

"A … what?!"

 **I didn't make THAT up. I once knew a man who wa** **s terribly disappointed when he got "an ugly pen made of plastic" for Christmas. I simply had to use it. Teehee.  
A review would make me so happy 3**

 **Chapter seven is nearly done ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**My dearest readers, this is the second update today, so please make sure you have read chapter six prior to chapter seven. This chapter, however, will move the story into the right direction and I hope so much that you still like it. I always listened that as a drama/angst story, so well ... Don't expect nothing but fluff, even though the middle part of this chapter is actually very fluffy.  
And, as always, I sadly work without a beta and am not a native speaker, so please forgive me my many mistakes.**

 **However, enjoy x3**

 **Near Inverness, December 14th 2018**

"You could have rang the doorbell instead of climbing over our fence and sneaking around in the backyard, you know?" It was rather amusing, actually, and Thomas had to laugh at the visibly freezing young man who had just knocked at the patio door.

"I didn't want to disturb Elsie, she's surely asleep." He rubbed his hands as he stepped into the house, snow on his coat and his boots more than just a little bit muddy. But well, he could clean that later.

"I wish she was. Lying in her bedroom, don't ask me for details." It was incredibly hard for him to be there for his aunt. He shouldn't think like that, but he did. The first two days after a Chemo were the worst, but it nearly took her a week to recover. Every single time. Yes, everybody knew that it made you feel nauseous, but nausea and puke were only a little part of all the horrible side effects. And all Thomas could do was standing there, witnessing it and just hoping all would be well.

At least it didn't spread. That was good.

"I just wanted to bring back her handbag, she's forgotten it in the cab yesterday."

"Just put it on the kitchen table. I'll put the kettle on. You have to stay for a few minutes." A few years ago, Thomas hadn't been very fond of Tom, the young Irish man living next door, but now they had become friends, somehow. Perhaps because they both cared very much about Elsie, or maybe even because a cab driver often came in handy. Especially now that his aunt needed someone to bring her to the hospital every third Thursday and the health insurance company paid him well.

"I don't want to impose." He said that and got rid of his coat, of course he'd stay.

"You always do," Thomas teased him, smirking. Of course that wasn't true.

He filled the kettle with water, put it on. Tea would be great now. There were times when he had enjoyed a cold beer in the afternoon, but now that he was an adult, behaved like one and was, in a very weird way, somehow happy, tea would be just fine.

"I heard you have a date in York soon." Tom leaned back in the wooden kitchen chair and gave Thomas a meaningful look.

Of course Elsie told him. He was the only friend they really had and of course he'd be happy for him, but why? Why had family members always have to tell everything?

"Yes, I have. Auntie will come with me. Can't leave her home alone for Christmas."

"True, Harry and Marv could show up!"

It took him a second to get that. Harry and Marv, true, the _Wet Bandits_ from _Home Alone_. He had loved that movie as a child.

"They could, I guess. But anyhow, now I have a date and what about you?"

Tom just shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing since July, and that was a disaster. Now I am the one alone for Christmas. I thought about going back to Ireland for Christmas, but I have to be back to work on the 31st, so I told my mum I'd visit for her birthday in February."

Thomas put the two steaming mugs of tea on the table and sat down with a sigh. "Adult life is complicated. But you're more than welcome to travel with us, you know. You could go shopping with Aunt Elsie while I'm meeting Eddy."

Tom couldn't reply to that, since suddenly the house telephone rang. Thankfully, it lay right in front of him. Whoever that might be.

"Hello, Thomas Barrow speaking."

" _Oh, uhm … Thoma_ s. _I … I am Charles Carson, I wanted to speak to your aunt."_ Alright. That was strange. Very much so. He said _Thoma_ s and obviously knew he was Elsie's nephew. But he didn't know, obviously, was that his aunt was in no state to talk to anyone. And who for God's sake was Charles Carson?

It was very confusing and even Tom seemed to noticed that, since he furrowed his brow at Thomas and raised his hands as if to ask what the hell was going on.

"Well, I'm afraid my aunt can't speak right now. Can I relay a message to her?"

A pause.

" _When could I talk to her?_ " Well, that Carson person wasn't exactly terribly polite, but sounded rather nervous. A man, calling his aunt, on the house telephone. Not on her mobile. One day after Chemo. Who the heck was that? Thomas was curious by nature, and that mysterious call somehow triggered him.

"Next Wednesday, at the earliest. But you could give me your number. Elsie could call you back."

" _Uhm … I had hoped to talk to her sooner. Is … is she alright?_ " What kind of question was that? Of course not! That woman had breast cancer, for God's sake. He could only roll his eyes at that.

"Excuse me, Mr. Carson, but I have no idea who you are, so why shall I tell you?"

Again, a pause. But Thomas heard a quiet sigh at the other end of the phone.

" _We … we own a cottage, together. I need to talk to her about that and I recently heard she wasn't well, so I worried._ "

A cottage. His face fell. A cottage. His aunt owned a cottage. Obviously not anywhere near, since that Carson person sounded very English, and she had never even mentioned it. Not once. But there weren't many Elsie Hughes living near who weren't well, as that man had put it, and he had known that Thomas was her nephew.

It had to be true. Elsie had lied to him. For all of his life. How often had they worried about money? About bills and repairs and all the time that woman had owned a cottage!

"Well, perhaps she really should call you back." But Thomas couldn't possibly end that call now. He needed to know more. "Just tell me, Mr. Carson, about which of her properties do you talk?" That was nonsense of course, Elsie certainly didn't own more cottages or houses or estates, even if she never told her nephew about the cottage she obviously owned.

" _Uhm, well … the cottage in Alne, I'm sure … I'm sure she remembers,"_ he replied and Thomas could sense that the man was more than just nervous. Hurt. Apprehensive.

" _However, Thomas, please tell her I have called."_

That he would do. That he would do, for sure.

 **Downton, Yorkshire, late January 2019**

Right in there. Right in there was growing his baby. His own flesh and blood, a child. Their child. He had always hoped they'd have a children one day, when Elsie was ready and he had put a ring on her finger. Not that he'd mind that it was already happening now.

Quite the opposite. A very late, but very welcome Christmas gift.

Elsie had just fallen asleep, her nude body still lying on top of the sheets, the tips of his fingers ghosting over the soft skin of her still flat belly. It wouldn't stay flat for much longer and now that he knew, he could feel a certain round hardness that hadn't been there weeks ago.

Charles Carson would be a father. The father of Elsie Hughes' baby.

No. that was not what he wanted. He wanted to be the father of Elsie _Carson_ 's baby. Funny enough, his mother had given him her engagement ring nearly two years ago, but he had never proposed. He had simply had been too afraid that he wouldn't get the answer he wanted. Charlie could only hope she'd say yes now, because he would finally pop the give their child his name, of course, but also because he loved her. It was time. They were moving on. Finally.

He sighed to himself, wondering if there was some kind of plan for them, if they had needed the pregnancy to finally take the next step, and gently cupped his loved one's cheek. Elsie was perfect. To him, at least. Her love had transformed him into a better version of himself, it was true. That woman had opened him like a book, had read every single page with that soothing, soft voice of hers, rolling the _R_ s and replacing some words with Gaelic endearments. Elsie had blown away the dust on his cover, had reached for him and put him out of the shelf.

Like a book, a novel, a romance, but a tasteful one. He hadn't fallen in love with her immediately, not right away. It took him a few months to make her reveal her inner beauty to him, but when she did … he had been enchanted.

"Oh, my love, if only you knew how grateful I'll always be," he whispered to himself, watching her sleeping.

It had been an emotionally exhausting evening, that was for sure. They had both cried tears of happiness, had discussed their future by painting wonderful pictures in their mind, had made love and dreamed about how their life would look like a year from now on.

They'd be parents.

And hopefully married. His mother would be delighted and little Thomas could carry the rings, while Mary and Edith would make wonderful flower children.

It would be perfect.

All of it.

"You're thinking too much; you should sleep," he suddenly heard her murmuring, her eyes still closed.

"You should sleep on."

Elsie stretched out in bed, a weak smile on her lips. "Darling, I can literally hear you thinking. And I may need to cover myself for the night." He watched her raightening herself up and reached out for her.

"True, I don't want you to catch a cold." Not the most poetic thing he'd ever said. "I just … had to look at you. The woman who's carrying my child."

"Well, Mr. Carson, I dare say you'll have even more of me to look at soon, I am carrying _our_ child after all."

That she did. Elsie Hughes was carrying _their_ child and for the very first time.

t time, Charles Carson felt _complete_.

 **Near Inverness, December 16th 2018**

Sunday. Day three after the Chemo and even though she had actually managed to get out of bed, she still felt as if she was one of those Zombies from _The Walking Dead._ Her throat was on fire, her nose bleeding, her legs wobbly. Alone the smell of fried bacon that came from the kitchen made her feel nauseous again and while she clutched the handle of the door with both hands, her knuckles white under the skin, she had to take the deepest breath she could muster. Wouldn't be the first time she didn't manage the short walk from her bedroom to the living room, which was embarrassing. It were days like that when she was thankful for not having a family on her own, cruel as it might sound. Knowing that Thomas had to see her like that was hard enough. Not that she hadn't offered him to move out in the past. Elsie would somehow manage on her own. And she wouldn't be sick forever. In fact, tomorrow would already be a much better day and not even a week from now on, she'd go on vacation.

Okay. Another deep breath. Her hands let go of the handle and she slowly approached the armchair, always trying to get hold of a wall or something else. Her poor nephew should never find her on the floor again, unable to get up on her own.

One step after the other. Nearly there.

Elsie hated to be so weak, so sick, but she needed to go through that in order to survive. And she would show that bitch called cancer just how much of a fighter she was.

Alas, that fighter was out of breath as soon as she fell into that armchair, both hands on her bald head now, wishing someone could simply hold her. That was beyond contradictory, she knew that well enough. On the one hand, she wanted someone to hold her, on the other hand she was glad that she didn't put a husband or a child through that.

There it was again. Funny how her illness brought everything back. Like a wave washed up shells on the beach. Broken shells. Empty shells.

Leaning back, she tried hard not to dwell on what might have been. Twentyfour. Their child would have been twentyfour years old by now. They could have celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary next year. Had they actually made it to the altar.

No matter how much she loved Thomas and the beautiful cozy cottage they lived in, a part of her would forever regret that she walked away. No, she didn't _walk_ away. Elsie had _run_ away from their problems.

And Charlie hadn't tried to bring her home.

"I had hoped you'd still be in bed." Thomas' voice startled her; she hadn't heard him coming, but now he stood right behind the armchair, his hands on her shoulders.

"I needed to move my sick bones," she replied, her voice quiet and weak.

"Do you want some lukewarm tea?" He was so considerate, knowing exactly that her throat and lining of the mouth couldn't stand anything too hot or too cold. Or too spicy. Or to sweet. In fact, lukewarm water or tea was everything she could gulp down right now.

"In a bit, maybe. I'll try to recover from my long journey now." Elsie could still joke, the cancer didn't affect her dry sense of humour after all, but those few steps did indeed feel like a long journey, therefor her remark was too true to be actually funny.

"I hope you feel better soon, auntie."

"I know you do."

 **All the medical details are somehow borrowed from my mother, who got the diagnosis breast cancer in May 2017. The lukewarm tea thing, the dizziness, the chemo treatment and some stuff in future chapters ... her experiences. But thankfully, she won the battle (for now) and leads a healthy, happy life again**

 **A review would rock my socks**


	8. Chapter 8

**I won't lie. I thought I was done with writing Chelsie fanfic and truly belived I stopped loving them. But, as it turned out, I'm unable to stop loving them and I think they deserve bringing this story to an end.**

 **Alas, I didn't read any fanfic in motnhs. Shame. On. Me. I'll spend the next days catching up :D I wasn't even online here since my last update.**

 **So, well.. Before we start:**

 **MAHOOOOOOOOSIVE thanks to the amazing, wonderful, patient and lovely HogwartsDuo aka Chelsie-Carson! She was kind enough to rtead this through and corrected my many, man, MANY mistakes and pointed out a few things to me :D I'm not a native speaker and without her, you'd definitely notice that!**

 **You're brilliant x**

 **So, now on with it! Hankies won't be neccessary, but some parts are a bit sad. At leastb you'll get some answers ;)**

* * *

 **Near Inverness, December 20th 2018**

Ever since Mr. Carson called him, Thomas had wanted to say something, to confront his aunt with the lies she'd told him. It wasn't that he hadn't found the right moment yet. No, he could have talked to her easily in the evenings. And, she felt better again, but … truth be told, Thomas Barrow was simply afraid. Afraid of what he might learn about the woman he had always considered a mother figure. Afraid that she'd destroy his image of her. Afraid there was more to the story.

He had spent entire nights tossing and turning in bed, trying to find a possible explanation that wouldn't change everything. A cottage could be some kind of pension plan, for example, a business venture to make sure that there's always a nest egg.

And then there was Mr. Carson. A man ... possibly _her_ man, once upon a time. His mother, Becky, had once mentioned that Elsie used to have someone by her side, but she never said more than that. It was as if Elsie's past was simply nothing worth discussing.

But he needed to talk to her, before that man called her again, and she would learn that her nephew had kept something from her. It was Thursday, and Elsie felt better. She had decorated the flat while humming Christmas tunes.

Thomas took a deep breath, grabbed his mug of steaming tea, and tried to gather all the courage he could muster. It was time. Now or never.

Licking his lips, he tried to remember the words he had chosen earlier, when he had thought about what to say - for hours. Walking into the living room, he stopped for a moment to watch her. She wore her pink shell suit and the grey beanie he had given her after her first chemo.

"What about helping your old aunt?," she asked as she struggled with a paper star she obviously wanted to hang from the ceiling. Her face fell as she noticed that her nephew wasn't exactly in a cheerful mood.

"Later, perhaps. Might … might we sit down? I think we need to talk."

To his surprise, she simply nodded, sat down on the couch and waited for him to begin. It wasn't that they'd never had a serious talk before. But, they had mostly been about Thomas ... about quitting school, the drinking, his smoking or the stealing.

She had never once blamed him for his struggles and always tried to relate to him, to comfort him. So he'd give her the chance to explain it.

"I … I wish I knew where to begin." He tried to manage a weak smile, but failed, feeling all the fear rising. His picture of her might change forever.

"It's about me, isn't it? It's all a bit much, and you'd like to travel alone, wouldn't you?" He felt her hand on his shoulder, her eyes giving him one of her comforting, almost motherlike looks.

"No. It's not about that. But it is about York, in a way." He had Googled Alne. It was a tiny village near York, and if she had indeed had a boyfriend when she lived there, they might have purchased the cottage together. That would make perfect sense.

"Well, what is it then?" She reached for her own mug of tea on the coffee table, obviously intrigued, but not concerned or so it seemed.

"There was a call for you, when … when you weren't well.," Thomas tried to explain, but his aunt merely looked at him with big eyes, silently encouraging him to go on.

"It was about your cottage … the cottage you own together with a certain Mr. Carson." His voice began to shake and teardrops pricked against his eyelids like thousands of little needles. She hadn't trusted him, hadn't been entirely honest, and that hurt.

"Oh dear, he … he didn't do it." Elsie suddenly went pale and she shuddered, not even looking at Thomas.

"What do you mean?"

"He … He merely needed to sign the papers, I had sent them to him, more than 20 years ago. It would have been his cottage." Her voice was barely audible, and as he turned his head to watch her, he could see how she desperately tried to prevent herself from hyperventilating. For a second, he thought about fetching a paper bag to help her taking deep breaths.

Thomas had upset her, which hadn't been his intention and, truth be told, he hadn't even thought about that possibility. Him. Once again, he had made that all about him, like so often before.

Silence. Neither of them said anything for what seemed to be an eternity to him. He watched her closely, saw her fighting against tears.

"I … I was engaged, once. We had bought that wonderful, cozy cottage." The corners of her mouth twitched and eventually curled up to a weak smile. "It was registered in both of our names, something he had insisted on, but … I left. At some point, I sent him all the necessary papers so that the cottage would be his. I didn't want any money, I had no right to it anyway."

Engaged. His aunt talked about papers and money and all Thomas could think about was that single word.

Engaged.

"You never talked about him."

"No, I didn't. He is an open wound and instead of stitching it and letting it heal, I tried to forget about it."

That wasn't like her, not at all. Elsie was strong, a fighter, a simple break-up wouldn't hurt her that much. Thomas thought about how to reply and took a sip of his tea.

"Is … Is Mr. Carson the reason you never fell in love again?" He had always wondered why she'd never brought a man home. Not a single boyfriend, not even an affair. Nothing. But she obviously liked men, in every way, he knew that well enough from their discussions about which actor was hot and which wasn't. For quite some time, he had blamed himself for that. Elsie had her arms full with him. How was she supposed to find time for a man?

She bit her bottom lip and reached for his hand. "Partly. Not only, I'd say." Tilting her head back, she stared at the ceiling for a few moments before she went on. "We went through hell, both of us. And maybe that's all you really _need_ to know. But perhaps it's time to tell you the whole story."

"The whole story?" That sounded as if there was way more to it, but Thomas still couldn't get around the fact that his aunt had been engaged.

"Aye, the whole story. I'm just not sure I'm strong enough for that tonight. It's a lot I tried to forget about." Elsie sighed. "No, that's not right. I could never forget it, could never forget _her_. In fact, I'll forever remember her, will forever love her, and will forever hope she'll forgive us for breaking up after we lost her." Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she clutched her mug with both hands.

Her.

She was talking about _her_ and he had no idea who _she_ could be.

As it dawned on him, Thomas felt the urge to cry. It made sense. It made perfectly sense. _She_ was a memory, someone Elsie would forever love - and _she_ was also someone that connected his aunt with Mr. Carson.

" _She_ … she was your child, wasn't she?"

His aunt nodded.

Then she burst into tears.

* * *

 **Alne, Yorkshire, April 1994**

It was perfect. Simple as that. Red bricks, rose bushes in front of the house, warmth from the fireplace, and she could already picture herself standing in front of the stove, preparing dinner for her family. Like in a picture book, just more … _real._

Never before had she been more sure about her decisions that had led them to this point in their lives. A picturesque cottage, a child with her man, her Charlie, neither Downton nor York far away.

Elsie took a deep breath, one hand on her tiny bump and looked at the small garden in front of her. She could picture it … growing tomatoes, a cherry tree in the corner of the yard, Charlie and some of his friends could build a little patio, perfect for dinner outside, perhaps together with Beryl and Cora and … all of them.

She had arrived, in every possible way. In that very moment, Elsie Hughes was exactly where she wanted to be … from now on. Always.

"I think that spot over there would be great for a seesaw, or perhaps a swing." Suddenly, she felt Charlie behind her, his arms surrounding her slowly changing frame, his hands on top of her own, his head on her shoulder.

"A seesaw? I think we should worry about other things before talking about play equipment." She smiled, beyond happy that they had found this little piece of heaven. They were the lucky ones, blessed. "The bill of the conveyancer, for example." It truly was absurd how much money that man wanted. But well, now it was theirs, officially and legally. Even though she still felt bad about the fact that Charlie had insisted on registering it in both of their names, in case something happened, he had said.

Charles didn't want to raise a credit, so they ended up paying for it with their combined savings - and the tidy sum Charlie had inherited from his father. "Let's not worry about that, love. Let us paint a mental picture, Elsie. A picture of the garden, the house, as we want it to be."

He was so sweet, and she turned around to plant a featherlight kiss on his lips, looking deep into his eyes. "What I want it to be is our home. Simple as that." And her home was with him, with him and their child.

Charles caressed her cheek with his thumb and smirked. "So I can use the whole living room for my model railway?"

That man! He was _teasing_ her!

"You and your blasted model railway! You're a giant child!," she laughed.

"Model railways are a serious business, Miss Hughes!," he said in his proper, official voice he used at work.

She decided to do what he had asked her to do. They would paint that picture.

"What about a brown leather couch? But a huge one, one of those where you can relax with the whole family?," Elsie asked him, taking him by the hand and leading him back into the house:

"Brown leather? That would go along well with my grandmother's old bookshelves."

"Aye, it would. And I want a white wooden dining table, large enough for twenty people!" Elsie wasn't joking. She wanted to be surrounded by friends and family in their home, their cottage.

"Whatever you want, Elsie. Whatever you want." And she knew he meant what he said. He'd give her everything.

He already had given her everything.

"I wouldn't say that if I were you! What if I want a unicorn? Or five tiny horses?"

"Even that, my love. I might protest should you decided to let a wild boar sleep in our bed, but otherwise ..."

That sweet, daft idiot. He was cute, he really was. They had become one of those couples she couldn't stand before she met Charles. So obviously in love, always smiling and spreading happiness.

And then they stood in their future living room, right now completely empty.

"I think I want the leather couch in front of the fireplace, not in front of the TV. Should we even have one in here? One in the bedroom, I'd say, but down here? I don't know." She wanted that room to look like one from old movies and a huge tube television wasn't exactly part of her vision.

"Well, we have four bedrooms, so we can use one of them as a second living room.," Charlie suggested, leaning against the wall.

"Good idea. Very good idea." Elsie smiled and stretched. Her back hurt more and more lately. And then there were the gravings and the moodswings. But she didn't complain. It was because of their precious wee baby at all and that child was worth any pain or any other annoying pregnancy symptom. (not sure what "greed" means … cravings, perhaps, or something else? Greed is usually associated with money, etc)

"Your back?" Of course he had noticed it. He always noticed it.

"It's okay, really. Nothing to worry about."

Charles approached her, hugged her. "I'll always worry. About you and our little one. That's a father's job."

* * *

 **Downton, Yorkshire, December 20th 2018**

Next Wednesday, at the earliest. That was what Thomas had said. It was Thursday now, time to give it another try. Maybe.

Charles sighed, staring at his mobile phone, right in front of him, on his desk at work. Of course he was in his office, he was _always_ at his office. The younger people at the publisher often joked that he basically lived there. And they were right, in a way. He didn't really enjoy being at his flat. It was empty, hollow, not a home, just a place to sleep, sometimes not even that. Whereas his work made him feel important, needed, valued.

He sighed, wondering why he had allowed himself to think back so often lately.

The video.

Mary talking to him about his performance of that blasted song. The news that Elsie was unwell.

The cottage, of course, was nothing more than a pretense. And he had indeed saved 50% of the rent for the cottage for the last 23 years, ever since he had rented it to a young family. They had moved in when the woman had been pregnant with their first child.

By now, they were parents of two girls and two boys, their grandchildren regular guests at the cottage. He sometimes visited them, nice people. Charles stopped by whenever he went to the graveyard in Alne.

Once upon a time, he had thought this would be their future. A real family with Elsie. A seesaw in the garden, perhaps a dog, Elsie had always wanted a Maltese, and …

No. Not now. Charles reached for his bottle of water and took a sip.

But still. He wanted to call her. Needed to call her. Even if it was only to realize that he was, indeed, over her … which was a lie, of course. He wasn't over her, would never be over her.

If only it was different. If only he could have fallen in love with anyone else. His secretary, Alice, was nice, very caring, always concerned, gentle and soft somehow, and she _was_ interested. Alas, she wasn't Elsie. Nobody would ever be her.

Suddenly, Robert knocked at his door and called "It's me!", which was kind of silly, since the door to his office was made of glass and Charles could easily see who stood outside.

"Come in, Robert." It was past seven anyhow, too late to call her.

"Why are you still here, Charles?" He closed the door behind him and sat down in the comfy armchair in the corner.

"I could ask you the same."

"But I asked you first."

"I had a meeting with an editor at five and afterwards some paperwork. And you?"

Robert sighed and crossed his legs. "I was already at home, truth be told, but I had forgotten my phone in my office. I would have let it here, but tomorrow is my free day, so I had to drive all the way to York for a blasted phone!"

Charles had to smile at that. That was so very … Robert.

"Funny enough, Mary had predicted that you'd still be here, old chap." Of course she had predicted that. A dead horse could have predicted that.

"I talked to her earlier. She knew about my meeting." Not that he left earlier when there was no meeting.

"I know you talked to Beryl about Elsie." He just blurted it out, without a warning, out of the blue.

Charles looked up, somehow shocked that his friend mentioned her. Of course Beryl had told Cora. He should have known that. At least John hadn't told him about his request to help him find Elsie.

He licked his lips, knowing very well that Robert was the only one he could really talk to, at least when it came to his private life. His barely existent private life. "The tape, people approaching me about our performance and hearing she wasn't well … It opened old wounds, so to speak." He nervously fidgeted with his watch, hoping he wouldn't get too emotional.

"You can't open an old wound that never healed, Charles. It is still open." Now, wisdom from Robert, that was new. He was probably quoting his mother. He was right, though.

"I wanted to bring her back home, Robert. You know it."

The other man simply nodded, silently asking him to go on.

"I'll never regret anything in my life more than my behaviour after … you know." After. His whole life had two chapters: _Before_ and _After_

"I wish I didn't have to say that, but Elsie is just as guilty as you. If one can even speak of guilt."

No, that wasn't right. There was no guilt. Elsie wasn't to blame. Not for their break up and not about … Her.

"We didn't understand that each of us needed our own way to mourn. I didn't understand her, she didn't understand me. But I tell you, I would have left myself. I was an arse." That was probably the very first time Charles Carson had actually said that word aloud. Arse. How vulgar.

"When Cora lost our child, I felt so … lost. And it was as if I had no right to mourn."

Charles remembered that tragedy well. It had torn his heart apart, but .. still. It was hardly the same.

"At least I got to meet my daughter, I still remember … how ..." He pressed his lips together, trying so hard not to cry. Instead of finding words, he held up his hand and eventually, he could whisper the words, tears wettening the cheeks. "That tiny ... she was that tiny."

* * *

 **I think I don't deserve reviews at this point =( I didn't comment (or even read) any fic in ages and didn't update for months, but still ... It would mean a lot to me x3**


	9. Chapter 9

**Yes, I will definitely finish this story. And I thank all of your for your support and all the winderful reviews x They never fail to cheer me up.**

 **Alas, I'm not a native speaker and have written this chapter without a beta, but still ... I hope you enjoy.**

 **Near Inverness, December 21th 2018**

"I never thought you'd actually wear that shirt!" Thomas grinned from ear to ear as he sat down at their kitchen table, waiting for his aunt to serve their lunch.

Elsie turned around, the wooden spoon still in her right hand, and proudly showed him the front. It said _I walk around like that …_ And then she showed him the back, smiling herself. _Because I think Bruce Willis is damn sexy_ Beneath the lettering there was a print of said actor.

Thomas had given it to her two days after he had shorn her head. It hadn't been completely bald yet, but she had looked like a plucked bird and was permanently losing hair everywhere, especially when she touched it. Elsie would forever remember the moment her nephew had turned on the electric shaver. They'd done it in complete silence, tears rolling down on both of their cheeks.

She licked her lips and tried not to think back. there were better times ahead.

"Of course I'm wearing it, it's a gift from my favourite nephew!"

"You only have one nephew, Auntie," he replied dryly.

"Not in the opinion of your mother. You know she always refers to Bark Twain as her second son." Yes, Becky had indeed named her beyond ugly dog Bark Twain and thought it was terribly funny.

"In a way, he is. I mean, he has a room on his own, she buys him fancy clothes all the time and he has always enough food on his plate. Which is slightly more than what she did for me."

Elsie could only nod at that. It was sad, but Becky had never been a great mother to Thomas. On the other hand, she sincerely thought that boy has had a wonderful youth here in Scotland and Elsie was way more understanding than her sister, more patient and sensible.

She grabbed her soup ladle and two plates. "Now, have you spoken to Tom again?" She knew he had invited him to accompany them to York and she really liked that idea. Tom was more than just a neighbour, he was a friend to both of them and she could him shopping while Thomas was dating Eddy. Would distract her.

"I have, actually. He said he wouldn't want to impose, which is silly. And he'd spend Christmas completely alone without us, so he finally agreed."

"Good. I had hoped he would come with us." He'd distract her, that was the reason she wanted Tom to be there. She needed someone to spend her time with, to make her laugh and smile. Alone in York, that wouldn't end well, especially not after her rather long and emotional conversation with Thomas. Charles Carson had tried to call her. Once. The last thing she should do was standing on his doorstep, no matter how much she secretly wanted it. They did need to talk, and not only about the cottage they obviously still owned together. But no. It wouldn't do her any good. The past was over and she'd carry her daughter in her heart forever, but she hadn't talked to Charles in more than 24 years and she still wasn't ready. She simply wasn't ready. She'd probably never be.

Elsie shook her head and carried the plates to the table. "Nothing special, just some chicken soup, but we'll order Pizza for dinner, so this should be enough."

Thomas pointed at her with his spoon. "Didn't your doctor said something about eating healthy food?"

She clicked her tongue and shot him an annoyed look. "And what if I eat nothing but fast food? I already _am_ sick. Thomas. Because, if you haven't noticed yet, I don't really walk around with a bald head because I think Bruce Willis is sexy. But he definitely is, though."

"He's not," Thomas stated dryly. They never agreed when it came to sexy man.

Spooning her soup, Elsie wondered if her nephew would try to talk to her about her past again. They did have a really deep conversation about it the evening before, but she had cried the entire time and was pretty sure she hadn't answered all the questions he might have had.

On the other hand, she would prefer not approaching the topic again. It made her even more vulnerable than she already was.

But still. Charlie _could_ call her again or she could gather all her courage and visit him during their Christmas trip to York.

Sooner or later, Thomas would have to come back to it. And she knew he wouldn't want to bother her, no matter how much he thought about it.

Elsie took a deep breath. She'd mention him and see where it leads. She knew Thomas. He did want to know more, definitely.

"Charlie's had thick, dark hair. He was very tall, broad shoulders … Not quite as sexy as Bruce Willis, but definitely an attractive man."

Her nephew looked up at her, somehow startled and didn't say anything for a few seconds, just stared at her. "I never thought you'd date an ugly man. You certainly turned down Mr. Burns and he isn't even _that_ ugly," he eventually said.

"Well, Joe is a nice man, but … No. When I left Charlie, I … I simply decided never to fall in love again, silly as it may sound. And I didn't regret it. I travelled quite a bit, I got a nice job, raised my sweet darling nephew and adopted a nice puppy at some point." Yes. they've had a dog that had sadly passed away two years earlier, but at least Chew Barka wasn't as silly of a dog name as Bark Twain. Well, not in her opinion anyway.

She watched how Thomas licked his lips, obviously not sure if he should voice his thoughts.

But he did open his mouth.

"But … you could have done all of that with a man by your side." He didn't dare to look at her.

Elsie bit her bottom lip. "Yes. I could have done all of that with a man. But I only ever wanted Charlie by my side. And since I couldn't have him, not anymore, I stayed on my own. And it was a good life."

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. It could only be Tom, of course. He surely hadn't found the time to prepare some lunch and now he wanted to eat with them, as it happened so often.

"Thomas, could you please open the door for Tom?"

"Sure it's Tom?"

"Of course! Who else should it be? The Chinese laundry man?"

Thomas got up, but grinned mischievously as he left the kitchen, which worried her a bit. What had the boy done?

* * *

 **May 1994, Alne, Yorkshire**

The whole housewarming party had been her idea. It had been Elsie who had insisted on inviting everyone who had made their quick move to the cottage possible. She'd spent days organizing and planning everything, constantly talking about how great the first party in their new home would be.

And now she wasn't here and there would be no party.

Charles took a deep breath, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he stared at the neatly set table. Pink napkins, the china she had inherited from her Grandma, polished cutlery made of silver and balloons everywhere. It would have been wonderful. A nice evening with great people and then, he would have asked her to marry him. That had been the plan.

The weight of the little velvet box in the pocket of his suit trousers reminded him of how he had imagined his proposal. Robert knew of it, of course and Cora had brought him 50 red roses to give to Elsie after the proposal.

He had already put them in the trunk of his car.

Because he would propose.

In hospital.

Charles had planned to ask her for her hand in marriage and he saw absolutely no need to change that plan.

But still, it hurt. All of that. The huge wooden dining table, as by Elsie requested, waiting for people who'd never come, the memories of how he had brought Elsie to hospital, the fear of losing the babe.

But the babe was fine, Elsie had told him that on the phone.

All would be well.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang and Charles let out a frustrated sigh. Had he forgotten to inform someone? They had moved in two days ago and Charles couldn't see who#d possibly visit them now. All of their friends knew what had happened. Beryl had called them, Charles had asked her to do so.

For a moment he thought about not opening the door, but he had parked his car in front of the house and it could be Beryl or perhaps Robert. So he went through the hallway and answered the door.

"Hey, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you need to do me a favour!"

That woman wasn't serious. She couldn't be serious. Charles didn't even know what to answer, not really. Because he knew exactly what she wanted. The so called favour was obvious, since there were two big bags full of clothes on the ground and an infant in her arms.

"You do know Elsie's in hospital, don't you? Beryl called you, she told you what happened."

The woman in front of him just sighed, furrowing her brow and obviously tried hard to look as desperate as possible, bouncing her little son on her hip. "Please, just for two nights! I'll be back the day after tomorrow! It wouldn't be the first time Thommy's staying with you!"

Becky was unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. Mother to such a good, beautiful and smart child and she didn't even try to be a good mother. Without Elsie, Thomas would have lived in a foster home already, that was for sure.

"But Elsie was always present! And I want to visit her in hospital later!"

"Sounds like a plan! I'm sure Thommy would love to visit his aunt!" Becky smiled at her son and at her sister's boyfriend, obviously not realizing how inappropriate her behaviour was.

Charles looked at the boy who didn't say anything, he just cuddled his little teddy bear, his cheeks wet and his eyes red and puffy from crying.

Gently touching Thomas's face with his finger, he tried to stay calm. Perhaps every second away from Becky was a chance for the child to be happy.

"Do you want to go on a little adventure with your old uncle Charles?"

The boy looked up, the hint of a smile on his little, round face. "I like adventures."

Becky let out a relieved sigh. "Thank heavens! You're an angel, Charlie! I was already thinking I'd have to cancel my spontaneous weekend trip." It pained him to see how happy Becky was to get rid of her child.

And then there was them, Charles and Elsie. Just hours earlier, they had been so afraid to lose their baby. Cries, pleas, silent prayers … But their child was safe.

And so would be Thommy.

God knew what Becky would have done if he had said no.

"Now, I dare say you are a big boy, so promise me to behave well, little chap, and I might even treat you with a little surprise in the evening." Both of them, Charles and Thommy, had one thing in common: They absolutely loved Beryl Patmore's pancakes.

"I'm a good boy.," Thomas replied, reaching out for Charles.

"You are, sweetie. Now, have a great time with your Uncle."

Charles raised his eyebrows as he took Thomas. Becky didn't even ask how her sister and the baby were. It was obviously not on her radar. Her son was barely three years old and stayed with friends and family more often as with his mum, who presented him a new "daddy" nearly every week.

"I thank you so much, Charles." Becky raked her fingers through her bleached curls and only in that moment Charles noticed her new nose ring. She looked terrible. The make up reminded him of a prostitute and the snake tattoo on her arm wasn't really well done. But well. Elsie always found excuses for her little sister and called her a troubled soul, but Charles simply got angry when he looked at her.

"Well, have a great weekend then, Becky. Is there any way to call your during your spontaneous weekend trip?" He patted Thomas' back while he spoke and it took him all of his strength not to lose control and simply scream at her.

"I#m afraid not, Charlie. But I'm sure you'll manage! Tell Elsie I'll bring her a little souvenir from Brighton!"

Of course, a woman who was in hospital and nearly lost her child needed nothing more than a souvenir from bloody Brighton!

When Becky left not even a minute later, Thomas didn't even wave his mother goodbye.

* * *

"I get food here, you know! They don't let me starve!" Elsie couldn't stop chuckling as Beryl unpacked her huge basket of food. One could think she needed provisions for a three days long journey and not a few snacks for a short stay in hospital.

"The stuff they serve you is barely edible, I'll tell you that! Besides, you have to eat for two, don't you forget that!" And she presented her another lunch box full of cakes and cookies.

Elsie rolled her eyes and patted her tummy, thankful that it still was there. She could have lost her precious baby, but now she was nothing but grateful. Her child was alive, kicking up a storm, her friends cared for her and they'd simply throw their house warming party a week later. Charlie wouldn't like that idea for sure, not after their scare, but Elise simply wanted to forgot their scare. It had been terrible but now it was over.

"For two, yes! But not for six or seven! I'm sure Charlie will be happy about all the sweet stuff, though."

Finally, Beryl#s basket was empty and she sat down on the chair next to Elsie's bed.

"Now, sweetie, tell me something good after that dreadful morning!"

Elsie smiled at her best friend, her hands never leaving her baby belly. "Dr. Tapsell said there was absolutely no reason to worry and all would be well. He told me the baby is as healthy as possible and even a little bit big." What she didn't tell Beryl was that she still wanted a second opinion. Richard was their friend, she trusted him and valued him as a doctor, so she definitely wanted to talk about what had happened to him.

"He or she takes after Charlie then!" Beryl patted Elsie's belly and grinned from to ear to ear.

"Well, actually, they performed an ultrasound and ..." Just as she wanted to share the big news with Beryl, the door opened without a knock and her little nephew ran into the room.

Thankfully, she had a single room, a little luxury Charlie, Cora and Robert had insisted on.

"Hey! look who's there! My favourite boy!" It was a joy to see him, it really was. Thomas never failed to brighten her day and spending time with him warmed her heart every time.

"Auntie, auntie, auntie!" He quickly ran towards her and jumped on her bed, hugging his aunt tightly.

"Are you here with your mummy?" Oh, how she wished it would be Becky who came to visit. Not only because she hoped her sister would be there for her at least once in her lifetime, but also because she didn't like the thought of Becky asking Charlie to babysit, not today, not after their scare.

"Blimey!," Beryl exclaimed, turning her head towards the door. "I dare say the little chap is here with a living rose bush!"

Blimey, indeed. Elsie could swear her heart stopped beating for a split second and didn't know if it was shock or joy. Charlie's whole upper body was covered with a gigantic bunch of red roses. She was in hospital, not in heaven! It wasn't her funeral, just another ordinary day, apart from that horrendous morning when they had rushed to hospital.

"Charlie!," was all that left her mouth. All the money he must have paid for that and there's wasn't even a proper flower vase in her room!

"I'm also very happy to see you, dearest." Planting a featherlight kiss on her lips, he placed the roses at the footboard of her bed and let his right hand rest on her belly. "How is our little one doing?"

"Doctor Tapsell is beyond pleased with our baby. They'll release me tomorrow. No need to worry. My back's still hurting, but that's to be expected, I suppose." It felt so good to have him with her. All she needed right now was to be surrounded by the people she loved - Charlie, Thomas and even Beryl, who got up now and grabbed her basket. "I'll leave you be now, but no worry, I'll be back as soon as you run out of decent food!"

Elsie smiled at her best friend. "In five or six months then?"

On the other hand, Charlie was already nibbling at one of the cupcakes she had brought, so perhaps not really that long.

"Get away with you! And now enjoy your time with your man and Thomas!"

* * *

 **Near Inverness, December 21th 2018**

That insufferable man! It had been him who had stood on her doorstep in the middle of the night. well, technically it hadn't been the middle of the night but only 11 o'clock in the evening, but still. He had been the one who wanted to wanted to act immediately and do something silly and now he complained non stop. A long road trip with Charles Carson wasn't exactly the most pleasurable experience, that much she knew by now.

"I wish we could just turn around," he muttered, staring out of the window of Beryl's car.

"I know, you've told me that for three hours straight at least! But we informed Thomas and now there's no way back. _You_ said you needed to talk to her in person."

He rolled his eyes. "I could have waited two days, for Christ's sake! She would have come to York anyhow. The whole going to Scotland thing was your idea, Beryl!"

Now all of this was her fault, of course! What else? Beryl took a deep breath and tried to keep calm. "Because you cried and screamed and were just miserable! Ever since someone digged up the video of you and Elsie performing that song you have been nothing but a wreck! The fact that she's ill didn't make it better." It was such a weird situation. For more than twenty blasted years, he hadn't even mentioned his former love, but now Charles Carson didn't seem to think of anything else but her. His whole world revolved around Elsie Hughes. After all these years.

"I think you shouldn't tell her that I accompany you. I'll try to find a suitable hotel in Inverness when you're with her."

Beryl saw it in his eyes, it was written all over his face. He was as nervous as any man could possibly be. He was afraid.

And still in love with Elsie.


End file.
